Acceptance
by Lamport
Summary: "Look at me," she implores quietly, her other hand pulling gently on his shoulder. He doesn't move, and she can feel a lump forming in her throat. Although he sits beside her, he feels so far away. SPOILER for the promo clip "Not an Opinion" in "Farewell Daddy Blues."


**Spoilers from the season finale clip "Not an Opinion"**

She's still awake when she hears his key turning in the lock downstairs. After the hearing he insisted on going straight to work, the ride silent but for dad muttering and swearing in the back seat. "That was bullshit. Fucking scum lawyer." Richard said nothing, but kept his face to the window and clenched his hands against his thighs. When she stopped outside of the Onyx Club, he turned his mask to her and said, "See you at home" before getting out and shutting the door.

When they got back to the house she tried to act happy and calm around Tommy, but she was distracted. She burned the bottom of the roast she'd prepared for dinner, and paused so long while reading Tommy his bedtime story that he sighed and said, "Do you want me to read it?" All she could think about was her husband, up on the stand, speaking as loudly as his damaged throat could manage while those men tried to make out like he was some kind of blind idiot. It was all she could do not to jump out of her seat and take him far away from there. Dad must have sensed her thoughts because he kept a tight grip on her arm for the duration of the questioning.

She took a bath and went to bed, but her troubled mind kept her from sleeping. Now she can hear him bolting the door behind him, hanging up his coat and walking to the kitchen. Their bedroom is directly overhead, so she can hear his muffled voice and the voice of her father through the air vent in the floor by the headboard. The hall clock downstairs chimes twice. It isn't long before they finish their conversation and climb the stairs together.

He opens their door carefully in an obvious attempt not to disturb her sleep. When he sees that she is sitting up in bed, waiting for him, he turns his back to her and methodically begins to undress in the dark. He places his jacket, waistcoat and tie carefully on the hanger behind the door. His pants follow shortly after, hung up so as to maintain the pressed creases. Still avoiding her gaze, he walks to the opposite side of the bed and sits down.

"Richard?"

"Mmm, I'm sorry if I woke you. Goodnight." He pulls the mask off his face and places it on this bedside table, next to the picture she had framed for him of his family together on a porch.

She is exhausted, but unwilling to let her feelings go unsaid so she reaches to the pink shaded lamp beside her and turns it on. He makes a noise low in his throat and quickly reaches for his face, oddly staring up at them from the table. She intercepts him with her own hand.

"Look at me," she implores quietly, her other hand pulling gently on his shoulder. He doesn't move, and she can feel a lump forming in her throat. Although he sits beside her, he feels so far away.

"Richard, I'm your wife. Please." Her voice breaks a little despite herself, and it's for this reason that he turns halfway towards her so he can see the glisten in her green eyes.

A closer inspection of his eye reveals that he must have joined dad for a drink, possibly more at the club. He smells of bourbon, and stares at her defeated.

"What you did today…"she begins, unsure of exactly the words to convey how she feels. His gaze turns to the pillows. Suddenly she feels very foolish. She wants to say that she's proud of him, but even in her own head that sounds condescending.

Instead she moves a hand to the fullness of his cheek, and draws him closer. He closes his eye and leans into her touch unaware of her other hand, fingers poised carefully above the scar tissue under his left eye. In all the time they've been together she's never touched him there -not because she couldn't stomach it, but because she feared that it might cause him pain.

He sighs loudly and rests his forehead against hers when he feels the feather-like touch on his face. She feels him tense up again, eye snapping open, hand reaching up to cover himself. He stares at her angrily, like she's betrayed him and her heart breaks a little. He still doesn't understand. She's crying now, silent tears that track down her cheek and drip from her chin.

Gently, but with a strength she didn't know she had, she pulls his hand away from his face and touches him. He stays stock still as she traces the tight pink lines and whorls. She is entranced by the different textures of his skin, warm and tender under her fingertips. With her eyes still open, she coaxes him to lean down and places a kiss on the furrow between his eyebrows. Her lips fall to his closed eyelid, down the bridge of his nose and across to the empty space where his other beautiful grey eye once was. The skin there is soft, and so thin she can feel the blood pulsing behind it. She continues to the hollow cheek and the torn corner of his mouth, breathing deeply, willing him to accept the love she offers and relax.

She pulls away from her thorough worship of his face when she feels dampness on her chest. He is weeping in silence, and his tears are soaking through her nightgown. She pulls off his undershirt and lays him down beside her, continuing her kisses down his neck and across his collar bone. Soon he begins to move with her, placing his fingers beneath the straps of her nightgown and exposing her freckled breasts to the cool air. She straddles his hips, and they make love slowly, in the light, their mouths parting only to mumble endearments and reverent iterations of their names.

When it's all over, they lie together and watch the light of the sunrise gradually creep along the faded lines of flowers on the wallpaper. Only then does she reach over to turn off the lamp, and go to sleep.


End file.
